The Bride of Messina, and On the Use of the Chorus in Tragedy

 
   With joy, the bands old Nature sweetly twined;
   Thou wouldst have borne him in thy heart of hearts
   With rich atonement of long wasted years!
   But see – fell murder thwarts thy dear design,
   And naught remains but vengeance!
 

DON CAESAR

 
                     Come, my mother,
   This is no place for thee. Oh, haste and leave
   This sight of woe.
 

[He endeavors to drag her away.

ISABELLA (throwing herself into his arms)

 
             Thou livest! I have a son!
 

BEATRICE

 
   Alas! my mother!
 

DON CAESAR

 
            On this faithful bosom
   Weep out thy pains; nor lost thy son, – his love
   Shall dwell immortal in thy Caesar's breast.
 

First Chorus (CAJETAN, BERENGAR, MANFRED)

 
      Break forth, ye wounds!
      Dumb witness! the truth proclaim;
      Flow fast, thou gory stream!
 

ISABELLA (clasping the hands of DON CAESAR and BEATRICE)

 
   My children!
 

DON CAESAR

 
          Oh, 'tis ecstasy! my mother,
   To see her in thy arms! henceforth in love
   A daughter – sister —
 

ISABELLA (interrupting him)

 
              Thou hast kept thy word.
   My son; to thee I owe the rescued one;
   Yes, thou hast sent her —
 

DON CAESAR (in astonishment)

 
                 Whom, my mother, sayst thou,
   That I have sent?
 

ISABELLA

 
             She stands before thine eyes —
   Thy sister.
 

DON CAESAR

 
          She! My sister?
 

ISABELLA

 
                   Ay, What other?
 

DON CAESAR

 
   My sister!
 

ISABELLA

 
         Thou hast sent her to me!
 

DON CAESAR

 
                       Horror!
   His sister, too!
 

CHORUS

 
            Woe! woe!
 

BEATRICE

 
                  Alas! my mother!
 

ISABELLA

 
   Speak! I am all amaze!
 

DON CASAR

 
               Be cursed the day
   When I was born!
 

ISABELLA

 
            Eternal powers!
 

DON CAESAR

 
                     Accursed
   The womb that bore me; cursed the secret arts,
   The spring of all this woe; instant to crush thee,
   Though the dread thunder swept – ne'er should this arm
   Refrain the bolts of death: I slew my brother!
   Hear it and tremble! in her arms I found him;
   She was my love, my chosen bride; and he —
   My brother – in her arms! Thou hast heard all!
   If it be true – oh, if she be my sister —
   And his! then I have done a deed that mocks
   The power of sacrifice and prayers to ope
   The gates of mercy to my soul!
 

Chorus (BOHEMUND)

 
      The tidings on thy heart dismayed
       Have burst, and naught remains; behold!
      'Tis come, nor long delayed,
       Whate'er the warning seers foretold:
      They spoke the message from on high,
      Their lips proclaimed resistless destiny!
      The mortal shall the curse fulfil
      Who seeks to turn predestined ill.
 

ISABELLA

 
   The gods have done their worst; if they be true
   Or false, 'tis one – for nothing they can add
   To this – the measure of their rage is full.
   Why should I tremble that have naught to fear?
   My darling son lies murdered, and the living
   I call my son no more. Oh! I have borne
   And nourished at my breast a basilisk
   That stung my best-beloved child. My daughter, haste,
   And leave this house of horrors – I devote it
   To the avenging fiends! In an evil hour
   'Twas crime that brought me hither, and of crime
   The victim I depart. Unwillingly
   I came – in sorrow I have lived – despairing
   I quit these halls; on me, the innocent,
   Descends this weight of woe! Enough – 'tis shown
   That Heaven is just, and oracles are true!
 

[Exit, followed by DIEGO.

BEATRICE, DON CAESAR, the Chorus.

DON CAESAR (detaining BEATRICE)

 
   My sister, wouldst thou leave me? On this head
   A mother's curse may fall – a brother's blood
   Cry with accusing voice to heaven – all nature
   Invoke eternal vengeance on my soul —
   But thou – oh! curse me not – I cannot bear it!
 

[BEATRICE points with averted eyes to the body.

 
   I have not slain thy lover! 'twas thy brother,
   And mine that fell beneath my sword; and near
   As the departed one, the living owns
   The ties of blood: remember, too, 'tis I
   That most a sister's pity need – for pure
   His spirit winged its flight, and I am guilty!
 

[BEATRICE bursts into an agony of tears.

 
   Weep! I will blend my tears with thine – nay, more,
   I will avenge thy brother; but the lover —
   Weep not for him – thy passionate, yearning tears
   My inmost heart. Oh! from the boundless depths
   Of our affliction, let me gather this,
   The last and only comfort – but to know
   That we are dear alike. One lot fulfilled
   Has made our rights and wretchedness the same;
   Entangled in one snare we fall together,
   Three hapless victims of unpitying fate,
   And share the mournful privilege of tears.
   But when I think that for the lover more
   Than for the brother bursts thy sorrow's tide,
   Then rage and envy mingle with my pain,
   And hope's last balm forsakes my withering soul?
   Nor joyful, as beseems, can I requite
   This inured shade: – yet after him content
   To mercy's throne my contrite spirit shall fly,
   Sped by this hand – if dying I may know
   That in one urn our ashes shall repose,
   With pious office of a sister's care.
 

[He throws his arms around her with passionate tenderness.

 
   I loved thee, as I ne'er had loved before,
   When thou wert strange; and that I bear the curse
   Of brother's blood, 'tis but because I loved thee
   With measureless transport: love was all my guilt,
   But now thou art my sister, and I claim
   Soft pity's tribute.
 

[He regards her with inquiring glances, and an air of painful suspense – then turns away with vehemence.

 
              No! in this dread presence
   I cannot bear these tears – my courage flies
   And doubt distracts my soul. Go, weep in secret —
   Leave me in error's maze – but never, never,
   Behold me more: I will not look again
   On thee, nor on thy mother. Oh! how passion
   Laid bare her secret heart! She never loved me!
   She mourned her best-loved son – that was her cry
   Of grief – and naught was mine but show of fondness!
   And thou art false as she! make no disguise —
   Recoil with horror from my sight – this form
   Shall never shock thee more – begone forever!
 

[Exit.

[She stands irresolute in a tumult of conflicting passions – then tears herself from the spot.

Chorus (CAJETAN)

 
      Happy the man – his lot I prize
       That far from pomps and turmoil vain,
      Childlike on nature's bosom lies
       Amid the stillness of the plain.
      My heart is sad in the princely hall,
       When from the towering pride of state,
      I see with headlong ruin fall,
       How swift! the good and great!
      And he – from fortune's storm at rest
       Smiles, in the quiet haven laid
      Who, timely warned, has owned how blest
       The refuge of the cloistered shade;
      To honor's race has bade farewell,
       Its idle joys and empty shows;
      Insatiate wishes learned to quell,
       And lulled in wisdom's calm repose: —
      No more shall passion's maddening brood
       Impel the busy scenes to try,
      Nor on his peaceful cell intrude
       The form of sad humanity!
      'Mid crowds and strife each mortal ill
       Abides' – the grisly train of woe
      Shuns like the pest the breezy hill,
       To haunt the smoky marts below.
 

BERENGAR, BOHEMUND, and MANFRED

 
      On the mountains is freedom! the breath of decay
       Never sullies the fresh flowing air;
      Oh, Nature is perfect wherever we stray;
       'Tis man that deforms it with care.
 

The whole Chorus repeats

 
      On the mountains is freedom, etc., etc.
 

DON CAESAR, the Chorus.

 

DON CAESAR (more collected)

 
   I use the princely rights – 'tis the last time —
   To give this body to the ground, and pay
   Fit honors to the dead. So mark, my friends,
   My bosom's firm resolve, and quick fulfil
   Your lord's behest. Fresh in your memory lives
   The mournful pomp, when to the tomb ye bore
   So late my royal sire; scarce in these halls
   Are stilled the echoes of the funeral wail;
   Another corpse succeeds, and in the grave
   Weighs down its fellow-dust – almost our torch
   With borrowed lustre from the last, may pierce
   The monumental gloom; and on the stair,
   Blends in one throng confused two mourning trains.
   Then in the sacred royal dome that guards
   The ashes of my sire, prepare with speed
   The funeral rites; unseen of mortal eye,
   And noiseless be your task – let all be graced,
   As then, with circumstances of kingly state.
 

BOHEMUND

 
   My prince, it shall be quickly done; for still
   Upreared, the gorgeous catafalque recalls
   The dread solemnity; no hand disturbed
   The edifice of death.
 

DON CAESAR

 
               The yawning grave
   Amid the haunts of life? No goodly sign
   Was this: the rites fulfilled, why lingered yet
   The trappings of the funeral show?
 

BOHEMUND

 
                     Your strife
   With fresh embittered hate o'er all Messina
   Woke discord's maddening flames, and from the deed
   Our cares withdrew – so resolute remained,
   And closed the sanctuary.
 

DON CAESAR

 
                 Make no delay;
   This very night fulfil your task, for well
   Beseems the midnight gloom! To-morrow's sun
   Shall find this palace cleansed of every stain,
   And light a happier race.
 

[Exit the Second Chorus, with the body of DON MANUEL.

CAJETAN

 
                 Shall I invite
   The brotherhood of monks, with rights ordained
   By holy church of old, to celebrate
   The office of departed souls, and hymn
   The buried one to everlasting rest?
 

DON CAESAR

 
   Their strains above my tomb shall sound for ever
   Amid the torches' blaze – no solemn rites
   Beseem the day when gory murder scares
   Heaven's pardoning grace.
 

CAJETAN

 
                 Oh, let not wild despair
   Tempt thee to impious, rash resolve. My prince
   No mortal arm shall e'er avenge this deed;
   And penance calms, with soft, atoning power,
   The wrath on high.
 

DON CAESAR

 
             If for eternal justice
   Earth has no minister, myself shall wield
   The avenging sword; though heaven, with gracious ear,
   Inclines to sinners' prayers, with blood alone
   Atoned is murder's guilt.
 

CAJETAN

 
                 To stem the tide
   Of dire misfortune, that with maddening rage
   Bursts o'er your house, were nobler than to pile
   Accumulated woe.
 

DON CAESAR

 
            The curse of old
   Shall die with me! Death self-imposed alone
   Can break the chain of fate.
 

CAJETAN

 
                  Thou owest thyself
   A sovereign to this orphaned land, by thee
   Robbed of its other lord!
 

DON CAESAR

 
                 The avenging gods
   Demand their prey – some other deity
   May guard the living!
 

CAJETAN

 
               Wide as e'er the sun
   In glory beams, the realm of hope extends;
   But – oh remember! nothing may we gain
   From Death!
 

DON CAESAR

 
          Remember thou thy vassal's duty;
   Remember and be silent! Leave to me
   To follow, as I list, the spirit of power
   That leads me to the goal. No happy one
   May look into my breast: but if thy prince
   Owns not a subject's homage, dread at least
   The murderer! – the accursed! – and to the head
   Of the unhappy – sacred to the gods —
   Give honors due. The pangs that rend my soul —
   What I have suffered – what I feel – have left
   No place for earthly thoughts!
 

DONNA ISABELLA, DON CAESAR, The Chorus.

ISABELLA (enters with hesitating steps, and looks irresolutely towards DON CAESAR; at last she approaches, and addresses him with collected tones)

 
   I thought mine eyes should ne'er behold thee more;
   Thus I had vowed despairing! Oh, my son!
   How quickly all a mother's strong resolves
   Melt into air! 'Twas but the cry of rage
   That stifled nature's pleading voice; but now
   What tidings of mysterious import call me
   From the desolate chambers of my sorrow?
   Shall I believe it? Is it true? one day
   Robs me of both my sons?
 

Chorus

 
      Behold! with willing steps and free,
       Thy son prepares to tread
      The paths of dark eternity
       The silent mansions of the dead.
      My prayers are vain; but thou, with power confessed,
      Of nature's holiest passion, storm his breast!
 

ISABELLA

 
   I call the curses back – that in the frenzy
   Of blind despair on thy beloved head
   I poured. A mother may not curse the child
   That from her nourishing breast drew life, and gave
   Sweet recompense for all her travail past;
   Heaven would not hear the impious vows; they fell
   With quick rebound, and heavy with my tears
   Down from the flaming vault!
                  Live! live! my son!
   For I may rather bear to look on thee —
   The murderer of one child – than weep for both!
 

DON CAESAR

 
   Heedless and vain, my mother, are thy prayers
   For me and for thyself; I have no place
   Among the living: if thine eyes may brook
   The murderer's sight abhorred – I could not bear
   The mute reproach of thy eternal sorrow.
 

ISABELLA

 
   Silent or loud, my son, reproach shall never
   Disturb thy breast – ne'er in these halls shall sound
   The voice of wailing, gently on my tears
   My griefs shall flow away: the sport alike
   Of pitiless fate together we will mourn,
   And veil the deed of blood.
 

DON CAESAR (with a faltering voice, and taking her hand)

 
                  Thus it shall be,
   My mother – thus with silent, gentle woe
   Thy grief shall fade: but when one common tomb
   The murderer and his victim closes round —
   When o'er our dust one monumental stone
   Is rolled – the curse shall cease – thy love no more
   Unequal bless thy sons: the precious tears
   Thine eyes of beauty weep shall sanctify
   Alike our memories. Yes! In death are quenched
   The fires of rage; and hatred owns subdued,
   The mighty reconciler. Pity bends
   An angel form above the funeral urn,
   With weeping, dear embrace. Then to the tomb
   Stay not my passage: – Oh, forbid me not,
   Thus with atoning sacrifice to quell
   The curse of heaven.
 

ISABELLA

 
              All Christendom is rich
   In shrines of mercy, where the troubled heart
   May find repose. Oh! many a heavy burden
   Have sinners in Loretto's mansion laid;
   And Heaven's peculiar blessing breathes around
   The grave that has redeemed the world! The prayers
   Of the devout are precious – fraught with store
   Of grace, they win forgiveness from the skies; —
   And on the soil by gory murder stained
   Shall rise the purifying fane.
 

DON CAESAR

 
                   We pluck
   The arrow from the wound – but the torn heart
   Shall ne'er be healed. Let him who can, drag on
   A weary life of penance and of pain,
   To cleanse the spot of everlasting guilt; —
   I would not live the victim of despair;
   No! I must meet with beaming eye the smile
   Of happy ones, and breathe erect the air
   Of liberty and joy. While yet alike
   We shared thy love, then o'er my days of youth
   Pale envy cast his withering shade; and now,
   Think'st thou my heart could brook the dearer ties
   That bind thee in thy sorrow to the dead?
   Death, in his undecaying palace throned,
   To the pure diamond of perfect virtue
   Sublimes the mortal, and with chastening fire
   Each gathered stain of frail humanity
   Purges and burns away: high as the stars
   Tower o'er this earthly sphere, he soars above me;
   And as by ancient hate dissevered long,
   Brethren and equal denizens we lived,
   So now my restless soul with envy pines,
   That he has won from me the glorious prize
   Of immortality, and like a god
   In memory marches on to times unborn!
 

ISABELLA

 
   My Sons! Why have I called you to Messina
   To find for each a grave? I brought ye hither
   To calm your strife to peace. Lo! Fate has turned
   My hopes to blank despair.
 

DON CAESAR

 
                 Whate'er was spoke,
   My mother, is fulfilled! Blame not the end
   By Heaven ordained. We trode our father's halls
   With hopes of peace; and reconciled forever,
   Together we shall sleep in death.
 

ISABELLA

 
                     My son,
   Live for thy mother! In the stranger's land,
   Say, wouldst thou leave me friendless and alone,
   To cruel scorn a prey – no filial arm
   To shield my helpless age?
 

DON CAESAR

 
                 When all the world
   With heartless taunts pursues thee, to our grave
   For refuge fly, my mother, and invoke
   Thy sons' divinity – we shall be gods!
   And we will hear thy prayers: – and as the twins
   Of heaven, a beaming star of comfort shine
   To the tossed shipman – we will hover near thee
   With present help, and soothe thy troubled soul!
 

ISABELLA

 
   Live – for thy mother, live, my son —
   Must I lose all?
 

[She throws her arms about him with passionate emotion.

 

He gently disengages himself, and turning his face away extends to her his hand.

DON CAESAR

 
            Farewell!
 

ISABELLA

 
                  I can no more;
   Too well my tortured bosom owns how weak
   A mother's prayers: a mightier voice shall sound
   Resistless on thy heart.
 

[She goes towards the entrance of the scene.

 
                My daughter, come.
   A brother calls him to the realms of night;
   Perchance with golden hues of earthly joy
   The sister, the beloved, may gently lure
   The wanderer to life again.
 

[BEATRICE appears at the entrance of the scene.

DONNA ISABELLA, DON CAESAR, and the Chorus.

DON CAESAR (on seeing her, covers his face with his hands)

 
                  My mother!
   What hast thou done?
 

ISABELLA (leading BEATRICE forwards)

 
              A mother's prayers are vain!
   Kneel at his feet – conjure him – melt his heart!
   Oh, bid him live!
 

DON CAESAR

 
             Deceitful mother, thus
   Thou triest thy son! And wouldst thou stir my soul
   Again to passion's strife, and make the sun
   Beloved once more, now when I tread the paths
   Of everlasting night? See where he stands —
   Angel of life! – and wondrous beautiful,
   Shakes from his plenteous horn the fragrant store
   Of golden fruits and flowers, that breathe around
   Divinest airs of joy; – my heart awakes
   In the warm sunbeam – hope returns, and life
   Thrills in my breast anew.
 

ISABELLA (to BEATRICE)

 
                 Thou wilt prevail!
   Or none! Implore him that he live, nor rob
   The staff and comfort of our days.
 

BEATRICE

 
                     The loved one
   A sacrifice demands. Oh, let me die
   To soothe a brother's shade! Yes, I will be
   The victim! Ere I saw the light forewarned
   To death, I live a wrong to heaven! The curse
   Pursues me still: 'twas I that slew thy son —
   I waked the slumbering furies of their strife —
   Be mine the atoning blood!
 

CAJETAN

 
                 Ill-fated mother!
   Impatient all thy children haste to doom,
   And leave thee on the desolate waste alone
   Of joyous life.
 

BEATRICE

 
            Oh, spare thy precious days
   For nature's band. Thy mother needs a son;
   My brother, live for her! Light were the pang
   To lose a daughter – but a moment shown,
   Then snatched away!
 

DON CAESAR (with deep emotion)

 
              'Tis one to live or die,
   Blest with a sister's love!
 

BEATRICE

 
                  Say, dost thou envy
   Thy brother's ashes?
 

DON CAESAR

 
              In thy grief he lives
   A hallowed life! – my doom is death forever!
 

BEATRICE

 
   My brother!
 

DON CAESAR

 
          Sister! are thy tears for me?
 

BEATRICE

 
   Live for our mother!
 

DON CAESAR (dropping her hand, and stepping back)

 
              For our mother?
 

BEATRICE (hiding her head in his breast)

 
                       Live
   For her and for thy sister!
 

Chorus (BOHEMUND)

 
                  She has won!
   Resistless are her prayers. Despairing mother,
   Awake to hope again – his choice is made!
   Thy son shall live!
 

[At this moment an anthem is heard. The folding doors are thrown open, and in the church is seen the catafalque erected, and the coffin surrounded with candlesticks.

DON CAESAR (turning to the coffin)

 
              I will not rob thee, brother!
   The sacrifice is thine: – Hark! from the tomb,
   Mightier than mother's tears, or sister's love,
   Thy voice resistless cries: – my arms enfold
   A treasure, potent with celestial joys,
   To deck this earthly sphere, and make a lot
   Worthy the gods! but shall I live in bliss,
   While in the tomb thy sainted innocence
   Sleeps unavenged? Thou, Ruler of our days,
   All just – all wise – let not the world behold
   Thy partial care! I saw her tears! – enough —
   They flowed for me! I am content: my brother!
   I come!
 

[He stabs himself with a dagger, and falls dead at his sister's feet. She throws herself into her mother's arms.

Chorus, CAJETAN (after a deep silence)

 
       In dread amaze I stand, nor know